


Years or for Hours

by tangerinabina_de_archanea



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Edelgard and Hubert make a brief appearance, Fluff with an unhappy ending, Gen, Mild Gore, faerghus four, faerghus four cuddle pile come get ur faerghus four cuddle pile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25886641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangerinabina_de_archanea/pseuds/tangerinabina_de_archanea
Summary: The Faerghus Four rest together.or,A Faerghus Four cuddle pile with a twist
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44





	Years or for Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imagymnasia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagymnasia/gifts).



> DEAR COURT: i hope that i can make u weep as much as i did over ur dimilix :3c

Dimitri is exhausted. Even in slumber his features are marred with a frown, but it is slack and loose, softened by being born out of only habit, for once, and not intent. Half his face is in shadow, his cheek pressed against the mud and grass brushing against his nose. Shadows dance across him, stretching from the bright half of his face to the jagged patterns of his fur cape, as people mill about around him, whispering and laughing in hushed voices.

“We did it.”

“We’ve won!”

“It’s over...”

He’s hardly disturbed by this as he lays on his stomach, the breeze ruffling his furs and hair. The air is pleasantly warm, and the breeze pleasantly cool; the sky is a brilliant blue, and the grass a brilliant green. One could not ask for a more beautiful day to rest.

A fly crawls across his lip, but he does not stir to brush it off.

Felix is resting too, his torso stretched across Dimitri’s legs and his head tilted back, exposing his neck to the sky. If his eyes were open, one would think he was watching the clouds and picking out shapes of animals and objects from the blue and white above him. A sullen look of irritation is etched on his face even now, but it must be a lie, for he and his friends have not lain together in such a manner since long before the Flame Emperor, before the war, before all the troubles that came with it. Even so, despite his expression, he looks almost peaceful as his lashes, always the envy of his friends, rest on his cheeks.

It’s been many years, even longer than it has been for the others, that he’s been so close to Dimitri. He doesn’t seem to mind it now, or perhaps he is too exhausted to care, for he does not move, even as Dimitri shifts beneath him. The wind breathes over him too, ruffling his already messy hair further, but some stubbornly sticks to his forehead.

Sylvain’s head is resting on Felix’s shoulder. Any other day, he would jab him with his elbow and tell him to back off, but today he doesn’t. Well, most any other day, because Felix has been known to occasionally allow Sylvain use of his shoulder, usually when both are especially tired or Felix is in an exceptionally good mood. The redhead is slumped a little forward, slack-jawed, with drool on his cheek, which isn’t anything new; he’s notorious for waking up with a wet pillow in the morning. He looks paler than usual today, perhaps from a trick of the light, or perhaps it’s just because his hair shines so brilliantly red in the sun, as if all the blood was drained out of his body and into the matted red locks. 

Ingrid is halfway beneath Sylvain, their legs tangled together as if they were exhausted lovers after an ill-advised tryst. She clings tightly to him, her arms wrapped securely around his torso, something that she would never do if she were awake. There have been a few times in the past when they laid together like this as children, but as they grew they drifted further and further on the grass from each other. Perhaps that is why her face is harsh, determined, as if she were facing a battle to be won. Out of all of them, she’s by far the messiest, which is how it always was when they were children- her hair coming loose from its braids, the pure white of her pants streaked with mud, her armor dented and broken. 

They are all at rest now, and they deserve it, for the battle was long and arduous up until the final moments.

Dimitri shifts again as another body, carried by armored footfalls to its final resting place, knocks against the lances erupting from his back, nearly dislodging one. With an especially sharp jerk some of Felix’s hair comes loose, freeing itself from the sweat and blood that may or may not be his own coating his forehead. Sylvain’s head nearly slips from his shoulder, but still barely remains, thanks in part to Ingrid’s tight grip. Where her chest meets Sylvain’s back the dark stain painting both of them continues its spread, determined to engulf them both.

There’s stacks of bodies and wood around them, growing by the moment as Adrestian soldiers dutifully bring more, ants bringing crumbs back to their nest. Their dead will receive a proper burial, but for their enemies, a pyre is nearly too good for them. Even Faerghus’s king is barely worthy of the flames that engulf him and his soldiers.

Shadows pass over them again, stirring up ghosts of memories not even hours old, and yet there is none left to remember them.

* * *

_“Dammit, boar! You’re going to get yourself killed!”_

_Dimitri only grunts animalistically in response, refusing to look back at Felix._

_“Boar!”_

_He continues, step after staggering step, lances jutting from his back and blood in his trail._

_There’s a moment of silence, heavy and desperate._

_“Dimitri!”_

_It’s been a long time since that name has fought its way out from between his lips, and if he didn’t know better, he would say that it’s shock that takes Dimitri down to the ground, not his wounds._

_Felix’s knees slam into the earth as Dimitri turns his head to the side to stare at him, a sudden moment of clarity in his eyes that’s long been absent._

_“Felix?” His voice is so small, so terrified. It doesn’t fit with his hulking frame, swathed in furs and metal and blood._

* * *

One.

* * *

_“Fe? Oh, no, no no no, no! Felix!”_

_Sylvain nearly falls as he dismounts his horse, then stumbles as he runs towards him, falling face first next to where Felix lays prone across Dimitri’s legs._

_“Idiot,” Felix mutters, lifting his head to glare at Sylvain before letting it fall with a gasping breath as his chest heaves. He’s clutching a wound on his abdomen, and blood, too much blood, is seeping through his fingers._

_Only Felix would use his dying breath to insult someone. Sylvain almost cries._

_“How did this happen?”_

_“Snuck up on me,” Felix scowls, his eyebrows knitting together, either in pain or frustration._

_“But nobody sneaks up on you.” Sylvain’s still disbelieving, even if the evidence is plainly in front of him. A part of him doesn’t want to believe it, and that part knows that it’s true, but another part simply won’t believe no matter what._

_“This one did.”_

_“Okay, okay, I’ll… I’ll get you back to Mercie, no sweat. Just hold on, Felix.”_

_“Oh, please,” he gasps, “don’t waste your time.” He’s trying to be irritated, but it sounds more like a desperate plea for air, a plea that Sylvain not risk his life for a man already as good as dead._

_“No. I’m not leaving you.” Distantly, he hears his horse whinnying in terror, and thundering hooves._

_Felix’s eyes grow wide with alarm, flashing gold in the light. “Sylvain!”_

* * *

Two.

* * *

_Ingrid, as a general rule, has never been much of a crier. That was always Felix when they were younger, and Dimitri when he was particularly touched. Sometimes Sylvain, but he always tried to hide it._

_Never her._

_Shaking, she limps over to the pile of bodies, her pegasus long gone and her lance clutched only loosely in her hand as the other covers her mouth in horror. “Goddess,” she whispers, and her legs nearly give out as she frantically searches for some sign of life between the three._

_“Over here, Ing,” Sylvain mumbles, and she drops her lance and runs to him, ignoring the screaming pain in her legs._

_“Sylvain! You’re alive!” Hooking her arms under his, she pulls him onto her lap, the blood coating his back staining her clothing._

_“Heh… not for long.” He flashes a grin, weak but still so full of that usual false cockiness. “Is this all it took to get you to hold me?”_

_She chokes back a sob as she laughs, both frustrated and terrified, torn between crying and slapping him. “Really? Flirting again? At a time like this?”_

_“You know it. I…” He coughs, groaning. “Ugh. I have to get in one last hurrah, right? Listen, Ing… I’m sorry. For all the trouble I’ve caused. I know you’re always cleaning up my messes… but I guess this is the last one, huh? You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”_

_“Don’t say things like that!”_

_“It’s okay. I know that I’m…” He makes a strangled noise, guttural and rough, and swallows thickly, taking another panicked breath, before continuing. “It’s okay, Ingrid.”_

* * *

Three. 

* * *

_Ingrid is the only one left to cry now, and cry she does._

_Emperor Edelgard is a blur of red through her tears. By the time she realizes that she’s approaching, it’s too late; her lance is too far away and Edelgard is too close._

_“Surrender now and we will spare your life.”_

_Edelgard’s voice is cold, but Hubert’s smirk is colder as he stands next to her and gazes imperiously down on Ingrid._

_“No.”_

_“Don’t throw your life away like this.”_

_“I am a knight of Faerghus. To the very end, I will fight for my kingdom, and for my friends, and above all, for my king, Dimitri.”_

_“So be it.”_

_Hubert raises his hand, magic crackling in the air._

* * *

Four.

* * *

The sky is gray now, brimming with smoke and sparks in a thick miasma of death and decay. The scent of burning flesh clings to the hot breeze as if its life depends on it.

Ingrid and Sylvain are already burning. Felix is next, his legs catching fire before anything else.

The wind rises, and the flames consume Dimitri too, eating away at Faerghus’s king until there is nothing left.

**Author's Note:**

> mood music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yDZnKWdvTUo
> 
> i didn't want to put that at the beginning because it makes the twist too obvious jdslfkjdf but that's also where the title is from!


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